


pretty boy

by letterstothemoon



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Anyways, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Come Swallowing, Hand Jobs, Idols, M/M, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, as always: no beta, it got away from me, really there is not any plot at all i have no idea how it reached 10k words, this was supposed to be porn WITHOUT plot but alas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27449128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterstothemoon/pseuds/letterstothemoon
Summary: In the middle of a broadcast one day, Mark murmurs, “You’re pretty,” thoughtlessly, as he reaches over to run his fingers through the downy hairs at the nape of Donghyuck’s neck.Donghyuck goes silent, abruptly still. He turns to Mark, painted pink mouth forming a shocked little ‘o’, his eyes suddenly very, very round. “Uh?” He squeaks, voice cracking, and then flushes a brilliant, vicious red.Huh. Now isn’tthatinteresting.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 81
Kudos: 1202





	pretty boy

**Author's Note:**

> Translation to [Spanish](https://www.wattpad.com/story/248073316-pretty-boy)  
> Translation to [Turkish](https://www.wattpad.com/story/255115528-pretty-boy-markhyuck)

Donghyuck has always been confident—it shows in the set of his shoulders, his sly smile, the way he throws his head back and laughs, unrestrained. He doles out affection the same way he does everything else; loudly, wholeheartedly, without shame. He’s clever and funny, and he doesn’t shy away from anything at all.

Mark thinks: Lee Donghyuck is fearless.

When Mark first gets to know Donghyuck, he thinks: _I have never met anyone like this in my life, before_ , and it’s strange, because Mark is fourteen and he’s lived in three different countries, and in all those different places, and all those different people, Lee Donghyuck, still, is like nobody he’s ever seen before. (It takes him months to figure out whether that’s a good or bad thing. Sometimes he still isn’t sure.)

Even now, years into knowing him, Mark still struggles with dealing with him. Sometimes Mark can’t tell if Donghyuck is kidding, or if he’s serious, or if he’s being snarky, or just plain _mean_. Donghyuck is unflappable, and it’s unfair, really, because he’s younger and he shouldn’t be _cooler_ than Mark, except no one ever calls Donghyuck a dork like they do to Mark. Donghyuck is quick-witted in a way that Mark will likely never be.

As time passes, Mark grows used to the distinct way Donghyuck makes him feel strangely off-kilter. He thinks to himself: _maybe I’m just doomed_ —but for what it’s worth, he accepts it. He really, really does. 

Donghyuck is shameless, Mark knows. He’ll play up his embarrassment when hosts ask him to do aegyo, but then he’ll do it anyways, perfect and exaggerated, with his voice pitched up and his mouth pursed into a pretty pout. It _should_ be cringeworthy, it should make Mark want to curl up and disappear into oblivion, except… it isn’t, and it doesn’t.

Above all else, Donghyuck is eye-catching, a presence that expands and fills every room he walks into (he’s got a gravitational force like a collapsing star). He’s always been like that, even when he was a gross middle-schooler whose only goal in life seemed to be making Mark’s existence miserable. He would smile, throw his head back and cackle, bright and terrible, and the world would come to a standstill.

It’s been ages since first meeting Donghyuck, since befriending him, since debuting with him, and Mark still hasn’t figured out all the little idiosyncrasies that Lee Donghyuck is composed of, and sometimes he thinks that it’s a thankless, pointless endeavor.

But it so happens that on one random Wednesday, Mark accidentally strikes gold in the form of a throwaway comment.

In the middle of a broadcast, he murmurs, “You’re pretty,” thoughtlessly, as he reaches over to run his fingers through the downy hairs at the nape of Donghyuck’s neck.

Donghyuck goes silent, abruptly still. He turns to Mark, painted pink mouth forming a shocked little ‘o’, his eyes suddenly very, very round. “Uh?” He squeaks, voice cracking, and then flushes a brilliant, vicious red.

Huh. Now isn’t _that_ interesting.

After that, it’s like a switch has been flipped.

All of a sudden, Donghyuck _isn’t_ some sort of untamable beast, because Mark has suddenly come to the realization that somehow, just maybe, the mighty has fallen from his unshakable perch. (The more reasonable explanation is just that Mark has finally gained some situational awareness and some observational skills, but he prefers telling himself that this is the one moment where Everything Changed.)

These… _compliments_ seem to have the magical effect of subduing Donghyuck, and Mark sees the way he receives them, going from loud and boisterous to strangely passive, growing more bashful still and utterly shy at the more earnest ones—the way he goes quiet and very still whenever Mark says, offhandedly, “ah, Haechanie, you’re cute.”

Donghyuck will pretend he can’t hear the compliments, refusing to acknowledge them in any capacity, but it’s clear they’ve reached him all the same. A word of praise, and he’ll suddenly be stuttering, his shoulders bowstring taut. A vicious thrill goes through Mark whenever he sees the fierce blush that blooms at the base of Donghyuck’s neck, in the tips of his ears. He can’t help but reach out, then, pressing a hand to the nape of Donghyuck’s neck, tugging on his ears, just so he can feel that heat pulse beneath his fingertips. It fills him with a quiet sort of glee, a sensation only amplified when Donghyuck whips around to stare at him, eyes round and a little baleful.

He thinks he might be starting to understand why a younger Donghyuck had so enjoyed teasing Mark, goading every possible embarrassing reaction out of him.

It’s not as though Mark’s offering insincere compliments just for the sake of, what, _flustering_ Donghyuck—he really does mean every word he says. It’s only an added benefit that it seems to bother Donghyuck so much. Every time he’s talking too much, rambling and loud and getting on Mark’s nerves, Mark will find something to focus on, something positive to comment on, and it could be something as trivial as ‘you look nice in that hoodie’, and Donghyuck’s lips will flatten into a very thin line and he’ll look helplessly puzzled, brows furrowed.

One time, when they’re on the set of a magazine photoshoot and Donghyuck is being capital ‘A’ Annoying (he won’t stop making fun of Mark’s greasy mostly-raw eggs from NCT World), Mark interrupts him and says, solemnly: “Your hair looks really nice like that. It’s pretty.” Donghyuck’s mouth immediately snaps shut with an audible click, cheeks flaring a pretty, pretty pink, and he glares at Mark so vehemently that it’s almost laughable.

 _I’ve finally discovered his off switch_ , Mark thinks, on the edge of delirium. _Hallelujah._

Without really realizing it, it becomes habit—Mark slips into a routine. Every time he thinks something nice about Donghyuck, even if it’s pointless and redundant, he’ll make sure to speak up, chip in an enthusiastic ‘you’re cute’ here and there. For some reason, Donghyuck isn’t growing used to it at all. Sure, he’s getting a little better at hiding his knee-jerk reactions, but Mark knows him well enough to say that he’s _rattled_. It’s refreshing, finally getting the upper hand.

This strange new routine has the added benefit of helping Mark become more open with his own emotions, too, and he finds that he’s comfortable sharing aspects of himself in front of the camera that he hadn’t been, before. He finds that he _likes_ complimenting the people around him, putting his admiration into words by telling Taeyong-hyung that he’s handsome, or texting Kun-hyung that his voice is amazing in their latest song.

But praising the other members… it just doesn’t feel the same as when he praises Donghyuck.

Now, they’re sitting in Donghyuck and Johnny’s room. It’s been a while since they’ve actually hung out one-on-one, just the two of them, mostly because their schedules have been so hectic, and ever since they moved into different dorms, the time they used to spend together aimlessly watching movies or playing games has diminished a fair amount. Today, though, a rare off day where neither of them had plans, Donghyuck had texted Mark and told him to come down to the fifth floor so that they could watch a movie.

Donghyuck looks as though he’s rolled straight out of bed, dressed in an oversized lavender hoodie and worn basketball shorts. While he waits for Mark to open Netflix, he’s sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and his phone balanced precariously between them. His hair is blonde, utterly fried from the recent bleaching, and somehow the sight of it fills Mark’s chest with a confusing mixture of smugness and sticky affection. Donghyuck’s makeup free, cheeks a little acne red, and there are still pink lines pressed into his face from the fabric of his pillow. It’s nice.

“Why are you so _slow_ ,” Donghyuck complains, and then flings his phone to the side, nearly launching it off the bed entirely. He doesn’t seem to pay it any mind, instead scooting forward so that he can peer over Mark’s shoulder.

“I’m not—”

“Here, gimme, I forgot that you’re absolutely useless with technology,” he reaches over to tear Mark’s laptop from his hands. Irritated but unwilling to pick a fight, Mark presses his lips together and instead surveys Donghyuck silently.

As he watches, his prior annoyance gradually dissipates into something gentler, almost fond.

Donghyuck has always been cute. That’s an irrefutable fact, really—as loathe as Mark had been to admit it, even back when they’d first met, Donghyuck _had_ been an adorable (if not somewhat demonic) middle schooler. He’s always been soft, all rounded edges, the kind of cute that one might attribute to a small puppy. Now, though, as he observes the way Donghyuck puffs his cheeks out in concentration, bottom lip caught between his teeth, he sees all the ways in which Donghyuck has grown up into a handsome young adult.

It’s strange that it’s just hitting Mark now, that Donghyuck is pretty. _Really_ pretty, even without the makeup and polish. _Especially_ without the makeup and polish.

“Donghyuckie,” Mark says, and Donghyuck hums, not really paying attention, eyes still glued to the screen. It comes out unbidden, airy: “Donghyuck-ah, you’re so pretty.”

At that, Donghyuck fumbles and nearly drops Mark’s laptop. He’s already going pink as he whips around to glower at Mark. “What?” He snaps, anger not at all convincing, and Mark realizes that this is the first time he’s been so open about praising Donghyuck off-camera. All the times before they’d either been with the other members, or they’d been working. Now, though, with the two of them alone, Donghyuck’s flustered reaction hits Mark full force, to which he can’t help but grin at.

“You’re pretty,” Mark repeats, voice bland, and he meets Donghyuck’s eyes with no problem at all.

“Wha—” Donghyuck sputters, flushed and delightfully embarrassed. “What? _Why_?”

“ _Why_ are you pretty?” Mark repeats, amused. “Should we be having a discussion on how DNA and genes work?”

“No, dipshit,” Donghyuck snaps, and Mark is vaguely disappointed to see that his blush is already beginning to fade. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop being purposefully dense.”

“What _did_ you mean, then?”

Donghyuck’s still frowning a little, and rather than perturbed, he just looks confused. “What’s up with you recently? Why do you…” he gestures broadly at nothing in particular, hands fluttering about his face, “why do you keep… complimenting me nowadays? It’s… it’s weird. It’s not like you.”

“You like it, though?” Although Mark hasn’t really thought about how to justify suddenly praising Donghyuck so much, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. Donghyuck _does_ like it, going pink and pleased with every wayward compliment—even though he’s always affected confidence, Mark knows that beneath it all, Donghyuck is just as human as anyone else.

Mark’s spent so long thinking of Donghyuck as his equal that he’s never really slowed down to think about all the implications of their career. When they’d debuted, Donghyuck had been a child ( _they both were_ ), thrown headfirst into a cutthroat industry, ultimately clueless to what awaited them. Even then, Mark hadn’t thought much about it, because after all, it was just the way their lives were. But now, as he looks at Donghyuck, he thinks to himself: _he’s still just a kid._ Just as susceptible to debilitating self-consciousness, to the unsettling thread of insecurity that tugs and tugs and tugs, emblematic in their line of work.

Donghyuck has never needed protecting, has never needed someone to hold his hand through the darker aspects of their careers, and yet… Mark wants to tell him: _you are doing so well, Lee Donghyuck_ , and he wants Donghyuck to _know_.

“What do you mean,” Donghyuck sputters, again, a garbled, choking sound. “I _like_ it?” He straightens, crossing his legs and turning to face Mark fully. “Does this look like the face of enjoyment?” He purposefully keeps a straight face as he stares at Mark, and it’s so typical of him, to feel like he has to pick a fight over some dumb compliments, of all things, that Mark can’t help but smile.

“Yes, actually.”

“Stop _smiling_!” Donghyuck wails, and then reaches forward to shove Mark’s knee. “You’re _freaking me out,_ man! Do you want something, is that it? Are you trying to butter me up to ask for a favor? Did you break something of mine?”

Mark laughs. “No, what the hell? Chill out, I swear it’s really not that deep. I just… I like complimenting you,” at that, he feels his own cheeks beginning to burn. “Seeing your reactions, too… you’re kind of cute, sometimes, you know?”

“I’m always cute,” Donghyuck grumbles out of reflex, even though he can’t seem to look up from his own lap, ears red.

“If you really want, though,” Mark says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious—what if he’s seriously misread the situation? “If you really hate it, I’ll stop.”

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything for several long moments. He still isn’t looking at Mark, eyes trained instead on his hands, which are twisted together on his lap. He shifts, trying to get comfortable, like there’s energy buzzing beneath his skin. “I didn’t…” he starts, then stops abruptly, mouth involuntarily pursing into a pout. His blush is darkening before Mark’s very eyes, and he’s glaring down at his own hands as if they’ve somehow deeply offended him. “I didn’t say you had to _stop_.”

At that, fondness swells in Mark’s chest, and he has to struggle to bite back a quiet laugh. “Ah, what the hell, Haechanie, you’re seriously so cute,” he can’t help but reach forward to touch the shell of Donghyuck’s right ear, where it’s predictably hot beneath his fingers. Donghyuck startles at the touch, but doesn’t shy away, eyes downcast and cheeks pink.

“Wait, no, I take it back, you’re definitely being weird,” Donghyuck mumbles, but it lacks the earlier heat. He isn’t pushing Mark’s hand away. His eyes dart upwards, roving anxiously across Mark’s face, and when he’s met only with a smile, he nervously plucks at a fraying thread on his sleeve. His gaze drops down again. “You… you won’t stop, right?”

“Not unless you say so,” Mark says, voice low, and then flattens his palm against Donghyuck’s neck, thumb brushing over the delicate skin along his jaw. There’s the faint line of a thin scab just under his chin, where he’d nicked himself shaving. His pulse flutters, hummingbird quick beneath Mark’s fingers. “Do you want me to stop?”

Donghyuck is incredibly still. A tremulous breath escapes his parted lips. It’s utterly silent in the room, save for the hum of the radiator, the quiet din of the street below.

“Donghyuck,” Mark murmurs, and tightens his grip around the back of Donghyuck’s neck. Donghyuck shivers, and makes a quiet, strained noise. “Look at me.”

When he looks up, Donghyuck’s eyes are terribly wide, glittering with something akin to desperation. His flush rides high on his cheekbones. Mark watches, heartbeat roaring a thunderous rhythm in his ears, as Donghyuck swallows, throat bobbing.

“I,” Donghyuck’s voice cracks, and he winces. “I don’t…” the words are papery thin, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Mark’s next words come unbidden. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly, thick with approval: “Good boy.”

It should be embarrassing, to say something like that so easily, but he can’t bring himself to feel awkward at all, especially in light of the way Donghyuck reacts.

He sees the moment it truly hits Donghyuck, like a taser to the gut, fifty-thousand volts straight through skin, mouth trembling. He lets out a juddering, helpless breath, and _unravels_. Mark watches as he comes apart, shoulders sinking, hands falling limp to the comforter, and he drifts subtly closer, a sunflower turning to the sun. His eyes are like mirrors.

“ _Hyung_ ,” whispers Donghyuck, high-pitched and breathy.

A fire begins to burn in Mark’s veins, and he wants, dreadfully, to close the distance between them.

It’s just the two of them, he rationalizes, even while he’s already bringing his other hand up to cup Donghyuck’s cheek. Just the two of them. Donghyuck and Mark. Mark and Donghyuck. Maybe it is strange, this new game they’re playing. But it’s _Donghyuck_. It’s always been different, with him.

Donghyuck’s eyes go heavy-lidded and dreamy, nuzzling into Mark’s palm like a pleased cat. “You never,” he murmurs and then completely closes his eyes, turning into Mark’s touch. “You never liked being so affectionate.”

“And you’re usually never this docile,” Mark comments mildly, even as Donghyuck snorts and cracks an open to squint at him in vague protest.

“Because you’re mean to me,” Donghyuck reaches up and brings his own hand over Mark’s, keeping him in place. “You’re always so mean.”

“Is that why the compliments have been bothering you, recently?” Mark runs his thumb along the thin skin under Donghyuck’s eye.

Donghyuck sighs into the touch. “Mm,” he hums. “Felt suspicious.”

“But you like being praised.”

“Mm.” His brows crinkle, and he makes a soft noise of protest as Mark drops the hand that had been gripping the back of his neck.

“This position is a little awkward,” Mark admits. “My butt’s going numb.”

At that, Donghyuck’s eyes come open, narrowing into slits. “You’re really… you’re so bad at this,” he complains, even as he draws away from Mark, looking disgruntled at being pulled out of whatever mood he’d managed to fall into.

“What is ‘this’, exactly?” Mark asks, and then gets up to settle against the headboard.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Donghyuck gets to his knees, and then shuffles over so that he’s facing Mark again. He crawls forward, so that the frame of the bed lurches beneath them and moves so that his face is only a foot or so away from Mark’s.

“Is it, now.” Mark raises an eyebrow, unable to hide the upward tilt of his mouth. “Then would you mind explaining it to me?”

At that, Donghyuck takes pause. He settles back on his haunches, and Mark briefly mourns the loss of their proximity. “I suppose…” Donghyuck flashes him a wicked grin. “It’d be you praising me about every gratuitous little thing? You, telling me that I’m perfect, that I’m _super_ smart, _super_ handsome, and an amazing singer, and, and,” he’s stumbling over the words, having dissolved into helpless laughter.

“I honestly thought you didn’t need any more praise, at first,” Mark admits. “I always thought that one of your biggest flaws was your ego.”

“Um! Rude!”

“But you know,” Mark says, and then pats the empty space beside him, “I think I’m starting to figure you out.”

Donghyuck is staring very intently at the space beside Mark, still on his knees and sitting on his feet. The pretty flush that had been so prominent earlier hasn’t completely faded either, both of his ears are deliciously red. “Figure me out?”

“Yeah,” Mark nods. “I’ve got a theory or two.”

His eyes dart to Mark’s face again, and he’s not smiling anymore, instead looking almost eager—so much so that Mark can practically see two ears and a tail wagging. “Pray, tell.”

Mark pauses, takes a moment to take stock of the situation at hand. When he’d called Donghyuck pretty, earlier, he hadn’t expected it all to spiral into something so… so _overt_ , really. He thought that maybe Donghyuck would blush and then yell at him to shut up, but here they are, Donghyuck kneeling before Mark and staring at him expectantly, with eyes that are round and hazy and stunning.

What _is_ Donghyuck expecting, anyways? Mark has never been the smooth talker between the two of them—that’s always been Donghyuck, whose brain moved miles quicker than his already smart mouth, and whose favorite past time was talking those around him to death. It should be weird. Mark’s definitely out of his depth. But as he looks into Donghyuck’s eyes, thinks about the boy who affects self-assuredness in the quirk of his lips, the cock of his hips, and finds that it’s not difficult at all to reconcile that image with the almost submissive, _wanting_ version of him now.

Mark makes a decision. “I’ll tell you if you come here,” he spreads his arms, and then meets Donghyuck’s expectant gaze with his own weighty stare.

Breath catching visibly in his throat, Donghyuck’s eyes dart rapidly between Mark’s face and his beckoning hands. He isn’t moving at all, and Mark can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes are unfocused.

“Well?” Mark prompts, and that seems to jolt Donghyuck into action. Mark can’t stop staring at his blush, the crimson that creeps up his neck and up his ears and rides high on his cheeks. His gaze drops to Donghyuck’s throat— _red_ —wants desperately to see just how low that blush goes. It’s an intoxicating feeling, this strange control he seems to have over Donghyuck, who’s almost stumbling over himself to get to the headboard, where Mark’s waiting.

He tucks himself into Mark’s side and buries his face into the junction where Mark’s shoulder meets his neck. Mark can feel his shivering breaths, hot and damp against his skin, and he presses his own nose to the crown of Donghyuck’s head, which smells of the strawberry kids shampoo he stole from Taeyong, and of something else entirely unique to him.

“Mark-hyung,” Donghyuck murmurs, and his lips are a burning wet brand against the hollow of Mark’s throat. “Can you…” he seems almost embarrassed, which is unlike him, but Mark sits quiet and patient as he waits for Donghyuck to get the words out.

“Hm?” He hums, trying to encourage him.

The request comes out high-pitched and shaky. “Can you pet my hair?”

It’s interesting, Mark thinks, even as he acquiesces. Donghyuck’s never been shy about asking others to do things for him, whether it be to show him affection, or to pay for his food when he conveniently ‘forgets’ his wallet. What is it about this specific scenario that turns him into such a pile of mush?

He combs his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair, scratching gently at the back of his head, digging his fingers into Donghyuck’s scalp. Donghyuck makes a soft, pleased noise that makes Mark’s heart ache.

“Tell me your theories about me,” Donghyuck says, even as he shuffles closer, pressing himself fully against Mark, tangling their legs together. Donghyuck’s right hand is slung across Mark’s torso, and he twists his fingers into Mark’s sleeves, tugging so that he can intertwine their fingers. His hand is hot, dry to the touch.

“My theories?” Mark murmurs. “Oh, right.”

Donghyuck still isn’t looking at him, face tucked resolutely against Mark’s throat, chin pressed to Mark’s shoulder. He’s tracing little shapes on the back of Mark’s hand with his thumb.

“You know, when we were kids, I really thought you were just… this force of nature, you know? You were always so loud, so sure in everything you did—with singing, dancing, everything. Annoying me, especially.” At that, Donghyuck lets out a huff of quiet laughter. “That much hasn’t changed, I guess,” Mark muses, and gently untangles a catch in Donghyuck’s hair. “But I suppose I was too caught up in myself. I never imagined that you would have felt anything like I did at times, insecure in my own skill, in every aspect of myself. Obviously, as we grew up, I figured it out eventually. That you were… human. I had doubts, you know! But it isn’t _just_ insecurity for you, is it?”

At that, Donghyuck stops tracing those shapes on Mark’s hand.

Mark continues: “I know you’re not that confident all the time, are you? You’re just like everyone else. You need assurance sometimes. You need to be told that you’re doing well, that you’ve been good,” Mark pauses, and he feels a minute shudder roll through Donghyuck. “But that’s not all it is. What you _really_ want,” he’s murmuring now, because the words are already monumental enough to fill the room with all their heady implications, “is to be worshiped, to be placed upon a pedestal. To be praised not because you’re unsure of yourself, but because you want someone to be looking at you—and _only_ you—uncompromisingly. As if they can’t even bring themselves to look at anyone else, because you’re perfect, you’re all they could ever desire. You want to feel needed. You need to feel _wanted_.”

Donghyuck’s breath stutters, and he’s trembling in Mark’s grip. “Yes,” he whispers, and Mark can almost fool himself into believing that he can feel the thunderous pulse of Donghyuck’s heartbeat, in his hands, his throat, his faltering breath. “Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Donghyuck keeps saying, and it’s as if a dam has broken, words tumbling end-over-end out of his mouth, desperate and breathless and oh-so-airy. “Please, Mark-hyung, _please_.”

He doesn’t say what he’s pleading for. He doesn’t have to.

“I understand,” Mark murmurs into his hair. “You’ve done so well in telling me, Donghyuckie, I’m proud of you.”

Donghyuck squeezes his fingers tight around Mark’s hand, hot to the touch and a little clammy. “More,” he demands, and Mark has to bite back laughter.

“You’re so good, Donghyuck,” he murmurs, into the thick of Donghyuck’s hair, and twists his fingers through the strands so that he can tug. “You look so pretty today, it’s insane—I know we always joke about not looking presentable whenever we haven’t done makeup or hair, but you’re still gorgeous, really, it’s so unfair.”

“ _Gorgeous_ ,” Donghyuck repeats in a reverent whisper. “Really?”

“Really,” Mark affirms, and presses his mouth to the crown of Donghyuck’s head. “You’re so pretty; the prettiest person I know.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t have to for it to still be true,” Mark murmurs, and Donghyuck giggles—actually _giggles_ —and it warms Mark through and through.

He keeps going until Donghyuck’s boneless and pliant beside him, languidly tracing lines up and down the stretch of Mark’s wrist and forearm. His face is still tucked carefully into Mark’s shoulder, and he hums quietly when Mark finally falls silent, not making any move to extricate himself from Mark’s hold.

They stay like that for who knows how long, not saying a word, until Mark’s entire right side is numb and the parts of him that are pressed up against Donghyuck—his bare legs, his side—are sticky with sweat. Donghyuck’s breathing slows and levels out, on the edge of sleep.

It’s probably more than a little bizarre, whatever this is, but Mark finds that he doesn’t mind. He’s never really thought about his friendship with Donghyuck in absolutes, anyways—they adapt to whatever it is that needs to be done, and if this is just another thing that Donghyuck finds that he needs from Mark, then fine, Mark’ll do it. It’s not like it’s all that difficult, anyways, coming up with things to praise Donghyuck for. Sure, Donghyuck drives him up the wall most of the time, but he’s also the weirdest, most exceptional person Mark has ever come across.

Except… there’s still a thread of doubt that tugs in the furthest recesses of Mark’s mind, a little voice that whispers: _are you doing this because he’s your friend?_ And the truth of the matter is this: Mark doesn’t know. The logical part of him is well aware of the fact that he’s probably been in love with Donghyuck for a while. At least a few years. But’s it’s never been something that bothered Mark, in that he knew that it was the sort of love that would have persisted, platonic or otherwise.

Mark has always loved Donghyuck, maybe, ever since they’d first met and Donghyuck had made fun of his braces. It’s never been the sort of love that he felt he needed to justify, to quantify, to analyze.

It’s simple: Donghyuck is Donghyuck, and Mark likes him just the way he is. Whether Donghyuck is his friend, or even someone with a potential for something beyond that, Mark doesn’t care all that much. He just… he just wants to be able to stay by his side, to grow up with him, to see him smile.

And yet, now… that pure, innocent, child-like affection has shifted, perhaps irreparably. Because now, looking down at Donghyuck’s face, slack with sleep, and lying prone against Mark’s chest, he finds that he wants to kiss him—wants to whisper terrible, awful things into his ear while he presses him into the sheets, wants to see the spread of that blush down his pretty face, his throat, his chest.

His heart is racing, and his face feels hot. Donghyuck’s fully asleep, now, and he’s definitely going to drool all over Mark’s sweatshirt. Mark averts his eyes. Maybe he really _is_ in over his head. All his rationalizations earlier suddenly seem stupid, and reek of blatant overcompensation. Okay, okay. So, Mark _may_ be freaking out a little. He’s sweating. He’s definitely sweating, ugh, this is so gross, how is Donghyuck _asleep_? Can’t he hear Mark’s heart pounding? Oh god, can he feel how sweaty he is?

And because the universe has some sick sense of comedic timing: “Mark,” groans Donghyuck, and he shifts so that he’s squinting up at him, looking disheveled and highly disgruntled. “I can practically hear you thinking.”

“Uh,” Mark says, voice cracking. “Sorry?”

“So _why_ exactly are you freaking out?”

Mark wants to say: _because I just realized how much I want to stick my tongue down your throat_ , but the words stick, heavy and bitter in his mouth. He manages a weak gurgle, to which Donghyuck arches an eyebrow at, looking marginally more awake.

Then, he pushes himself upright so that he’s at eye-level, and frowns. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“About what?” Mark groans, covering his face with his hands. “I still don’t even know what it is that we’re doing. I don’t know why it’s just hitting me now.”

Donghyuck rolls over so that he’s lying alongside Mark, no longer touching him. He’s staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully, fingers crossed behind his head. Unlike Mark, he seems utterly at ease, still languid from sleep. “We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Do anything?” Mark squeaks, and then goes pink when Donghyuck glances at him from out the corner of his eye.

“What, have your delicate sensibilities been upset just now?” Donghyuck snickers. “Was calling me pretty too gay for you?” His ears are rapidly turning red.

“What? No,” Mark says, and then pauses. “No.”

Silence hangs thick and heavy between them, in a way that it rarely has in the past. Donghyuck isn’t saying anything, still staring resolutely up at the ceiling. Mark doesn’t know what to say either, to be honest. In the moment, when he’d been saying sweet little nothings into Donghyuck’s hair, it hadn’t felt strange, not really. It’s just… now, thinking about the implications of it all. He’s never heard of anyone doing anything like this, and he doesn’t quite understand how it affects Donghyuck so viscerally. How it affects _him_ so viscerally.

“Were you uncomfortable, before?” Donghyuck finally asks.

“No,” says Mark, because that’s the truth. “I wasn’t.”

“So…”

Mark, spotting movement in his periphery, turns towards it, only to find himself mere inches away from Donghyuck’s piercing stare. It takes everything within him not to startle and recoil. From this close, he can practically count Donghyuck’s lashes, trace the constellations of his moles. Donghyuck’s mouth is small and pretty, chapped and red from where his teeth are worrying at the bottom lip.

“Would you keep going, if… if we didn’t make a big deal out of it?” He looks anxious, almost, waiting for Mark’s response.

He can’t look away from Donghyuck’s face, his round nose, his downturned eyes. He feels hypnotized, caught in some sort of trap he isn’t smart enough to name. “Yeah,” he breathes, nearly soundless. “I would.”

At that, Donghyuck turns away, back to staring at the ceiling again. “Okay. Good. Yeah.”

~

Over the course of the next few days, Mark is left to stew in his thoughts. He doesn’t know what it is he’d been expecting after that one fateful afternoon, but complete and total normalcy certainly isn’t it—which is exactly what he’s getting. Donghyuck isn’t acting any weirder than usual, still loud and obnoxious and way too willing to make fun of Mark for every misstep.

Mark tries his best not to let himself get too caught up in his head, and his main strategy so far is to keep up with those little meaningless compliments every now and again. The first day, he’s a blushing, stuttering mess. He tries to tell Donghyuck that his legs are nice, and he nearly eats shit tripping up the stairs to the practice room. Donghyuck laughs so hard he cries. The second day, he _doesn’t_ trip, but ends up choking on the words so badly that Taeyong asks him if he’s feeling alright and hands him a little sachet of vitamin C powder. It’s embarrassing.

After that, though, Mark eventually figures it out. It hadn’t been hard when he’d first started, so why overthink now? The easiest thing is just to do what’s natural, after all—so he does just that.

Every little compliment he tells Donghyuck visibly affects him—maybe not as obviously as they had, earlier, prior to their talk, but there’s just something about praising Donghyuck that seems to calm him down, lets him settle in his own skin. He never realized how jittery Donghyuck naturally is, filled to the brim with a buzzing sort of energy. He’s always tapping his fingers against his thigh, humming under his breath, clicking a pen open and closed.

In the waiting room backstage at an award show, Donghyuck’s sitting on the couch and on his phone playing some game. He’s bouncing his knee, looking focused but fidgety. Mark leans in over his shoulder and murmurs: “Donghyuck-ah, your eye makeup is pretty today,” and Donghyuck goes utterly still.

“Yeah?” He whispers back, eyes still trained on the flashing screen of his phone. He looks pink and pleased, mouth twisting into a nearly imperceptible smile. It’s cute. It’s really, really cute.

“Mhm,” Mark assures him. “Super nice.”

At that, Donghyuck finally looks up at him, breaking into a heart-stopping smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, showing both rows of his straight white teeth. “Thank you, hyung,” he says, guileless and sweet, and Mark feels his chest tighten.

It’s rare that Donghyuck ever seems so sincere, and it’s an expression that Mark wants to revisit again and again and again. He wants Donghyuck to smile like that at him, wants to hear a slew of babbled ‘ _thank you’s_ gasped into his own mouth and—oh. _Oh_.

As it turns out: Mark really wants to be with Donghyuck, in a completely non-platonic way.

He’d thought that the desire to kiss him two days ago had been nothing more than a passing thought, induced by their proximity and the sheer tension of the moment—but now, as he watches Donghyuck, doing nothing aside from playing a dumb game on his phone, he thinks: _I just really want to kiss him_ , and maybe that realization should be scarier than it is, but as it stands, Mark thinks that it’s probably not all that surprising. Like, what was he expecting? It’s Lee Donghyuck. _Everyone’s_ at least a little bit in love with him.

Being with Donghyuck in a non-platonic way… Mark just has no idea how deep his desire runs, how far he could hypothetically go. Does he want to _date_ Donghyuck? Honestly, he can’t really imagine it. Donghyuck doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would be easy to date. But then again, it’s not like Mark even really has the luxury of imagining a romance with a boy who, for all he knows, is only using him for some weird, twisted sense of validation. Honestly, though, he can’t say that he’s mad about it.

He pushes the thought out of his mind entirely. It won’t do to worry about it.

The next any of this even comes to play, though, is several weeks later.

They’re at the practice rooms, him and Donghyuck, along with the rest of 127. In between comebacks, they still gather on occasion to go over old choreographies—it’s a biproduct of the fast-paced environment of their jobs; it’s inevitable that they forget and get rusty over time.

Ten minutes into practice, and Mark can already see that Donghyuck is _off_.

He looks dazed and unfocused, every move sluggish and a half-beat late. It’s not terrible, at first, but as the minutes tick by, Donghyuck’s movements only get sloppier and sloppier. He’s out of sync and lagging, and his usually elegant style has dissolved into something messy, flinging his limbs all over the place with no real rhyme or reason. It’s honestly kind of painful to look at him.

During the pause between songs, Mark tries to catch Donghyuck’s eye, but Donghyuck’s staring resolutely at his feet, bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. He’s red, not on the endearing way, but in the gross, exhausted way that they all are. His expression is startlingly vacant, hardly seeming to register the hand Johnny places on his shoulder. Before Mark has a chance to go to him, the music turns back on and they get back into formation.

The rest of the practice is similarly disastrous; Donghyuck doesn’t make any improvements. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark can see the way Taeyong’s going all tense, jaw ticking, and even Taeil, who adores Donghyuck, is starting to look frustrated. Mark wonders if it might be Donghyuck’s old injury giving him trouble again, but upon closer inspection, it doesn’t seem as though Donghyuck is favoring any leg. He doesn’t really seem sick, either, just… out of it.

It all comes to a head when Donghyuck trips over himself and slams, shoulder-first, into Jaehyun, sending the two of them careening into Jungwoo, who falls. Jaehyun swears, loudly, and the music comes to an abrupt halt. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence.

“Alright,” Taeyong says. “That’s it. We’re done. Everyone, out. I don’t know what’s up with you, Donghyuck, but that was a dismal performance. I’m not going to lecture you, I’m sure you know it well enough yourself. Figure it out.”

It’s been a long time since Mark’s seen Taeyong pissed. He can only watch in wide-eyed awe as their leader storms out of the practice room after checking to see if Jungwoo is alright. The rest of them exchange awkward glances, even as they gather their things to leave.

Mark turns to find Donghyuck, but he’s already brushing past him and hurrying out into the halls.

“Donghyuck!” Mark calls, only to be ignored.

“Man,” Johnny comments, sounding only mildly put out. “What is _up_ with him?”

Mark is appropriately concerned—he has no idea what it is that’s bothering Donghyuck, and there’s a little part of him that wonders if it’s like all the times before, when Donghyuck had withdrawn into himself. Is he hiding an injury? What’s _wrong_? There’s a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It sits like an anvil.

He grabs his backpack and dashes out the door.

When he gets back to the dorms, instead of heading straight to the tenth floor, he takes the executive decision and presses the little number 5 in the elevator. He’s _going_ to get to the bottom of this. The dorm is quiet, when he unlocks the door. It doesn’t seem as though the others have returned—the only shoes at the entrance are Donghyuck’s. Mark’s phone buzzes in his pocket; a message from Johnny.

> **Johnny**
> 
> leaving him to you since I assume you went after him
> 
> good luck, lol
> 
> dorm’s clear for the next three hours in case he wants to punch it out or something
> 
> just kidding, don’t punch it out
> 
> seriously do not
> 
> _Read: 15:18_

> **Johnny**
> 
> since you read the text i’m gonna just assume u have everything under control
> 
> _Read: 15:19_

As Mark shucks his shoes off at the door, he realizes that he can hear the muted sound of the shower running—which reminds him. He lifts up his arm to give himself a quick whiff, and grimaces. Okay, not _great_ , but also not the worst thing he’s ever smelled. He makes a mental note to go shower later. In Donghyuck’s room, the closet doors are flung open, Donghyuck’s jacket slung haphazardly over his bedside table. The shower is still running, so Mark sets his own bag down at the door and sits at Donghyuck’s desk to wait.

When Donghyuck emerges, about five minutes later, he’s in an old long-sleeved shirt that looks at least three sizes too big on him, and the same janky threadbare basketball shorts he’s inexplicably fond of. He doesn’t notice Mark at first, towel slung over his wet hair and covering his eyes.

Mark clears his throat.

Donghyuck lets out a little shriek, startling badly enough he nearly slips, but manages to catch himself at the very last second on the doorframe. “ _Mark_ ,” he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest, as dramatic as ever. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Mark sighs. “Donghyuck-ah,” he says, and swivels the chair around so that he’s facing Donghyuck at the doorway. Donghyuck eyes him warily, not looking particularly happy or upset to see him.

“What do you want?” Donghyuck finally asks, after a long pause. “I thought I embarrassed myself enough today.”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” is Mark’s knee-jerk reaction, but from the look Donghyuck shoots him, they’re both well aware that it’s a bald-faced lie. “Well,” Mark amends, with a grimace, “not _too_ badly, anyways.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Sure,” he says, and then looks down at the floor. “It’s not like Taeyong-hyung yelled at me in front of everybody or anything.”

“You know he…”

“Wasn’t trying to be mean? Yeah,” Donghyuck shrugs, affecting carelessness. “He was right, anyways. It _was_ a dismal performance.” His voice is deliberately flat, and his eyes give nothing away.

Mark stares at him, helpless. He doesn’t know what to say or do, to get Donghyuck out of this strange mood of his. He’s never been well-versed at comforting Donghyuck, to be completely honest. Donghyuck’s always been an upbeat guy, Mark’s never really had to deal with a… _despondent_ Donghyuck as opposed to a hyper or even angry Donghyuck. He wonders if…

“Donghyuck-ah,” he says. “Come here.”

Donghyuck narrows his eyes at him, but obeys all the same, coming to stand in front of him. It’s a little bit awkward, looking up at him like this, but Mark spreads his thighs and tugs at Donghyuck’s wrists so that he’s standing between his legs. At that, Donghyuck starts to look a little rattled, going pink in the face as he stares at somewhere just to the left of Mark’s left ear.

Mark curls his fingers around Donghyuck’s hands, taking a moment to study them. He adores Donghyuck’s hands; their sturdy palms and long, thin fingers and protruding knuckles, the way his pinkies are crooked, his nails bitten down. Donghyuck really doesn’t have the most delicate-looking hands, but they’re beautiful, all the same. He brings them up to his lips, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the tangle of their fingers. Donghyuck’s breath catches audibly above him.

“Is this okay?” Mark murmurs, into Donghyuck’s skin.

“Yes,” Donghyuck’s next exhale is shaky.

Mark looks up, meeting Donghyuck’s stare. Donghyuck’s pupils are blown, color riding high in his cheeks. He’s looking down at their intertwined fingers, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Hang on,” Mark tells him, and then stands, to pull Donghyuck to his bed. He lets go of Donghyuck’s hands for a moment so that he can settle himself against the headboard.

“What are you doing?” Donghyuck asks, watching as Mark arranges the pillows around himself.

“We’re gonna cuddle,” Mark informs him, completely serious. “You don’t have to tell me about what it is that upset you today, but I know you’re big on things like this, so it’s a free one time offer, no strings attached.”

Donghyuck snickers, but looks delighted, all the same. He studies Mark for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to take him up on the offer. Mark expects that Donghyuck’ll do the same as what he’d done the last time they’d cuddled, clinging to Mark’s side like a human jetpack, but instead, he kneels down on the bed so that he’s face-to-face with Mark.

“No take-backs,” he says, looking strangely determined.

“Yep,” Mark confirms. “No take-backs.”

Donghyuck grins, wicked and pleased. “Great,” he mutters, and then crawls forward, coming to a pause before Mark’s crossed legs. “Uncross,” he directs, to which Mark dumbly complies, stretching his legs out.

Still looking almost uncharacteristically satisfied with the situation at hand, Donghyuck shuffles forward, sliding his hands up Mark’s thighs, his arms, until they come to a rest at his shoulders. He settles himself in the little space between Mark’s spread legs, rearranging himself so that his own thighs come to bracket Mark’s hips, crossing his ankles behind Mark’s back.

“Uh,” Mark says, feeling his own face beginning to rapidly heat up as Donghyuck all but straddles him.

“You said I could do what I wanted,” Donghyuck draws back a little, so that he can meet Mark’s eyes and pout. Christ, he’s cute. It’s _so_ unfair.

“Well, not exactly—” Mark grunts, all the air driven out of him as Donghyuck settles down entirely, slinging his arms around Mark’s neck.

“You smell sweaty,” Donghyuck mutters, but wriggles closer all the same, the cold tip of his nose pressing against the hollow of Mark’s throat as he tucks his face into Mark’s neck. Goosebumps rise in wake of the touch, and Mark feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

“Didn’t have time to shower, sorry,” Mark says. “If it’s that bad I could—”

“No,” Donghyuck cuts him off, a little too quickly. “I like it. I like it, it’s fine.”

They fall into a companionable silence, and Mark brings his own hands up to rub up and down Donghyuck’s spine. Donghyuck all but melts in his arms, sighing contentedly. His hair’s still wet, dripping water down Mark’s clavicles and making him shiver.

“You didn’t dry your hair properly,” Mark complains, and leans back a little so that he can take Donghyuck’s towel to run it through his hair.

“Was gonna just pass out after showering,” Donghyuck admits, and closes his eyes as Mark haphazardly towels his hair off.

“Do you wanna talk about today?”

“It wasn’t anything in particular, really,” Donghyuck says, and then tips forward again to tuck his chin over Mark’s shoulder. His hair’s drier now, damp instead of dripping. “Just… stressed, I guess. Everything feels like a lot. Dunno.”

Mark makes a quiet sound of understanding. Despite the apparent glitz and glamor of their jobs on screen, it isn’t difficult to say that much of their lives are nothing more than a pretty façade. They’re all just people, after all, prone to moodiness and childish tantrums at times—the only difference is that they’ve been placed under a magnifying glass for the outside world to dissect. It’s always difficult, pretending to be cheerful when you’re feeling sad, or tired, or annoyed, and even Donghyuck, who’s always rolled with the punches, has off days.

“What can I do to help?”

Donghyuck is silent, considering. He curls his fingers into the back of Mark’s shirt. “You know what.”

Dropping the towel, Mark cards his hands consideringly through Donghyuck’s hair. “You want me to tell you that you did well?”

“Mm,” Donghyuck hums. “And that I’m pretty.” His breath is hot and damp against Mark’s skin. It should be funny. It isn’t.

“Donghyuck-ah,” Mark murmurs, and nudges Donghyuck’s chin upward, forcing him to meet his stare. Donghyuck’s eyes are already heavy-lidded, dazed. He’s looking at Mark’s mouth. “You’re stunning, you know? Every time I see you, I think: _when did he become so pretty?_ Not just that, but you’re so talented, too. You’re a good singer, a good dancer, a good entertainer. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Donghyuck-ah, you grew up so well.”

Donghyuck smiles, then, looking pleased, his gaze faraway and unfocused. “Really, hyung?” He whispers, a secret for just the two of them.

“Really.” At that, Mark lets Donghyuck tuck his face back into his neck, curled comfortably against him, his hair tickling Mark’s cheek. “I know today wasn’t perfect, but I _know_ you. I know that you’ll only improve, that you’ll blow everyone else out of the water in no time at all. You were made to stand on stage. You’re the best of us all.”

As he’s thinking about what to say next, he feels the slick heat of Donghyuck’s open mouth against his throat, the drag of his tongue along his Adam’s apple. Donghyuck’s fingers, sliding up the back of his shirt, an open hand splayed across his lower back.

He stops breathing entirely. Donghyuck hums, as if prompting him to continue, and the vibrations make Mark shiver in their wake. “Donghyuck,” he whispers, voice cracking. “What are you doing?”

Donghyuck doesn’t answer at first, continuing to press wet kisses against Mark’s fluttering pulse. “If you don’t want to,” Donghyuck murmurs into his skin, and he sounds so _out of it_ , voice thick and heady, “tell me no.”

At that, he twists his fingers into Donghyuck’s hair, at the base of his skull. He drags Donghyuck away from him, likely a little too rough, but Donghyuck only makes a soft, wrecked noise as his head is wrenched back. He looks at Mark from under his lashes, eyes half-lidded, and the brown of his irises are swallowed almost entirely by the black of his pupils. His mouth is red and spit slick.

Mark groans at the sight of him. “You drive me crazy; you know that?” He tells him, and Donghyuck responds only by lolling his head to the side, displaying the long stretch of his own throat—a clear open invitation. Mark may just be imagining how smug he looks, but he’s pretty sure that Donghyuck’s more than a little pleased with himself.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’,” Donghyuck points out, and tilts his head so that he can meet Mark’s stare, smirking. Mark tightens his grip, tugging hard at his hair, and Donghyuck’s smile wavers, lips parting around a soundless gasp.

“You’re good but not _that_ good,” Mark says, feeling a little mean. “If we’re gonna do this, I’m gonna need a real confirmation. Solid yes or nothing.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen. “Wait, you’d really…?”

Mark arches a brow. “What, you don’t want to?”

Looking vaguely stunned and flushed at the fact that Mark’s actually going along with it all, Donghyuck nods his head eagerly. “I,” he stutters, and then blushes, _pretty_ , “I want to. I do.”

Mark releases his grip in Donghyuck’s hair, moving to cup Donghyuck’s face in his hands. His skin is hot, soft to the touch. He feels Donghyuck’s fingers clamping down tight on his shoulders, twisting in the fabric of his shirt. Donghyuck looks younger like this, wide-eyed and innocent, caught somewhere between surprise and desire. Mark runs his thumbs along his cheekbones, beneath his eyes. Down, lower, catching the swell of Donghyuck’s bottom lip under his thumb.

“Donghyuck,” he murmurs, “can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck breathes. “Please, hyung.”

The sound he makes when Mark finally drags him down to kiss him is devastating; an aborted whine caught in the back of his throat. Mark isn’t sure what he’d been expecting, having only vaguely thought about kissing Donghyuck in passing, but this… this is far beyond any imagined scenario. Nothing really prepares Mark for the way Donghyuck is warm and solid in his lap, nor the way he kisses quietly, sweetly, with a hesitance that’s unlike him, yet somehow exactly like him all the same.

He seems perfectly content to let Mark take the lead, letting him lick along the seam of his mouth, tugging his lower lip between his teeth. His lips part, automatic, pliant, as Mark licks into his mouth, the inside of which is wet— _hot_ —and tastes vaguely of salt and spit.

It’s Mark who draws away first, breathless, lungs burning, and Donghyuck tips forward, chasing his mouth eagerly before he seems to realize that he needs to breathe, too. He looks like every wet dream Mark’s ever had like this, flushed and pretty and panting, chest heaving, lips swollen and glistening. Mark can’t stop staring at his mouth, and he thinks, near delirium, _I did that_.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Mark tells him, and Donghyuck visibly trembles, curling his fingers around the back of Mark’s neck. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this,” he murmurs, and hooks his thumb around the corner of Donghyuck’s mouth, dragging his lower lip down, rubbing against the soft insides of his cheek, his tongue.

Donghyuck groans, shifting restlessly atop Mark’s lap, successfully drawing Mark’s attention south, where he can see Donghyuck’s shorts are tented.

“You’re hard,” Mark notes, and grins at Donghyuck’s impatient whine.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he slurs, words distorted around Mark’s thumb.

“Don’t be crass, sweetheart,” Mark mocks, and then pulls his hand away from Donghyuck’s mouth to grind the heel of his palm down, _hard_ , against Donghyuck’s dick. Donghyuck practically shouts, jolting in Mark’s lap, curling around the epicenter of sensation.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Donghyuck hisses, turning baleful eyes to Mark, who’s watching him with no lack of amusement.

It’s a powerful feeling, being able to reduce Donghyuck to a shivering mess with just the simplest touch, and Mark grins, sliding his hands up Donghyuck’s bare legs, rucking his shorts up so display the golden expanse of his thighs. Donghyuck lets him, face flushed, eyes downcast, and Mark watches, admiring, as Donghyuck’s cock visibly twitches in response to the touch.

“You’re so sensitive,” Mark says appraisingly, digging his fingers into the plush meat of Donghyuck’s thighs, and then leans forward to mouth at his jaw, worrying red marks into the tender skin. Donghyuck groans, and grinds down against Mark’s own stiffening dick, desperate and unrestrained.

Mark has to bite back a hiss, the friction of Donghyuck rubbing against him a heady sensation. He feels all the blood rushing south, cock jerking in his pants. Swearing under his breath, Mark cants his hips upward at the same time he drags Donghyuck down, rutting against him hard enough to unbalance Donghyuck, tipping him forward so that his own erection is caught between them, against Mark’s abdomen.

“Fuck, _Mark_ ,” Donghyuck cries, voice breaking. “I want,” he breaks off into a gasp, rolling his hips down, pressing himself harder against Mark’s stomach. The friction isn’t enough; he’s almost wild in his desperation.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“More,” Donghyuck cries, “more, _I don’t know_.”

Mark tightens his grip around Donghyuck’s hips, imagines leaving bruises into his pretty, golden skin. He wants, desperately, to have Donghyuck beneath him, gasping helplessly into the sheets. “Can I suck you off?” Mark asks, feeling his own blush deepen, and the words come out strained, his voice inexplicably hoarse.

Donghyuck is wide eyed, even as he nods fervently. “Y-Yeah,” he stutters. “ _Yes_.”

He scrambles off Mark’s lap, practically falling over himself in his haste. He’s an absolute vision, lying among the rumpled sheets and scattered pillows, and he’s still looking at Mark with wide eyes even as Mark settles in between the spread V of his legs. They’re both still fully clothed, Donghyuck’s arousal fully visible through his shorts. Mark can’t help but feel a thrill of pride at the sight, tapping Donghyuck’s hip to get him to lift up so that he can take his shorts off.

Removing the shorts but not his underwear, Mark grins, hooking a finger on the waistband of his briefs. “Should I take these off?” He asks, playful, and Donghyuck only groans, arching into the bed.

“Stop teasing,” he complains, and kicks weakly at Mark’s shoulder.

“Hey now,” Mark’s grin widens, as he wraps a hand around the offending foot. “Don’t go kicking the guy who’s going to put your dick in his mouth.”

“Ugh,” Donghyuck says, but he’s smiling a little now, too. “You’re so goddamn corny, Mark Lee.”

“You know me,” Mark says, and then abruptly bends down to mouth at Donghyuck’s cock through the thin cotton of his briefs, successfully silencing him.

Mark can’t really taste anything through the material, focusing only on the growing wet spot, a mix of spit and precum. Donghyuck is surprisingly quiet when he’s turned on, and when Mark looks up just to check for a reaction, he finds Donghyuck with his head thrown back, hands fisted in the sheets. He’s so tense he’s practically shaking, the tendons in his neck protruding.

It’s only when the front of Donghyuck’s briefs are almost soaked through, and Donghyuck is biting back quiet little gasps, that Mark gives in and pulls the offending garment down, sliding them off Donghyuck’s legs, which seem go on for miles.

Donghyuck’s dick is… well, it’s a dick. There isn’t all that much to say, really—it’s average-sized, curving towards his stomach, flushed crimson from arousal and dripping precum. It’s an objectively nice dick, Mark thinks, perfectly inoffensive, as he curls his fingers around it. The skin is silken and hot beneath his touch, and Donghyuck’s hips jerk into his grip.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Mark says, stroking his thumb over the head, smearing precum all over, and Donghyuck’s breath escapes him in a shaky rush. “Pretty face, pretty legs, pretty _cock_ … pretty everywhere, Donghyuck-ah,” and Donghyuck whimpers, and brings his hands up to cover his face. He’s so _red_ , flushed all over, and it’s driving Mark up the wall.

When Mark finally takes him into his mouth, Donghyuck goes utterly still, silent. His mouth is trembling, the only part of his face that Mark can see from behind his hands.

He tastes of salt and skin, and the moment Mark swirls his tongue around the tip, precum blurts out, briny and on the edge of bitter. It’s not the worst thing Mark’s ever tasted, so he’s pretty sure he can deal. He takes him in, deeper, hums consideringly along the length, and feels the muscles in Donghyuck’s thighs jump beneath his fingertips. He’s trembling with the effort of holding himself back. It’s cute, really, and Mark can’t help but feel a little smug at how clearly Donghyuck is being affected.

Mark’s not the most well-versed in the art of dick sucking and finds that he can only get about halfway down before his gag reflex protests, even though Donghyuck isn’t that big. But what Mark lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm, and a well-developed sense of coordination, eventually figuring out a rhythm in bobbing his head, twisting his hand around the base.

Donghyuck’s hands eventually come down to his sides to fist in the sheets again, and he turns his head to bite into his pillow. Mark can’t see him all that well from his position but is content in feeling the periodic flex of Donghyuck’s thighs around his ears, his bitten back whimpers. It’s incredibly hot seeing how hard Donghyuck is trying to control himself, to stop from thrusting up into Mark’s mouth, quiet in a way that he never is in day-to-day life.

In his pants, Mark’s own dick is rock hard and throbbing, but the aching arousal is easy to push aside in order to focus properly on Donghyuck’s pleasure. Mark holds his breath, and moans around Donghyuck’s cock, purposeful and prolonged.

“Mark-hyung, I’m,” Donghyuck gasps, jerking forward, and his hands scramble, first to Mark’s head, in his hair, then to his neck, before coming to a stop at his shoulders. He’s shaking, nails digging into Mark’s skin. “I’m close,” he pants, pushing weakly at Mark’s shoulders. “Mark, I’ll,” he seems a little panicked at the thought of coming in Mark’s mouth, probably afraid that he’ll end up choking.

Lifting off for just a moment, Mark just has the time to say, “it’s fine, come in my mouth,” before he sinks back down and _swallows_.

Donghyuck cries out, a high-pitched rasp that’s the prettiest fucking thing Mark’s ever heard. His dick pulses, once, twice, and he comes straight down Mark’s throat. The taste of his cum is saltier than his precum had been, more viscous, and it’s a little bit gross, but Mark swallows dutifully, before withdrawing to mouth wetly at the head of Donghyuck’s cock. He stays there, tonguing the slit, sliding down and working his throat around the rapidly softening length, even when Donghyuck’s thighs begin to shake in overstimulation, his voice dissolving into cracking, heaving sobs, head thrashing against the pillows.

It isn’t until Donghyuck begins to kick, weakly, at Mark’s side, that he finally retreats.

Before him, Donghyuck is a _wreck_. His shirt’s been rucked up his stomach, from where Mark had been rubbing, and his hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction. He’s pink and breathless, lips puffy from biting, wet-eyed and still a little teary from the overstimulation. Mark files away the image for later, and slides his palms up Donghyuck’s sides, to bracket his thin waist, fingers digging into the softer swell of his belly.

He watches, silent, as Donghyuck seems to come back to himself in stages, catching his breath, and it isn’t until a few moments later that Donghyuck props himself upwards on his elbows, and glances down, where Mark’s still fully hard in his pants.

“You’re still,” Donghyuck begins, but Mark laughs awkwardly, and shakes his head.

“I mean, you don’t have to… this was about you, Donghyuck-ah,” he’s cut off abruptly when Donghyuck scoots forward to cup him, through his pants. “Guh,” he says, dumbly, and Donghyuck snickers.

“Keep calling me pretty and I’ll jerk you off,” Donghyuck instructs, and even though he sounds perfectly confident, almost arrogant, he’s unable to meet Mark’s eyes, the tips of his ears a brilliant crimson. Mark can’t help but smile.

“God,” he says, and presses a fond kiss to Donghyuck’s cheek. “What’ll I do with you? You’re so cute it’s making me go stupid.”

Donghyuck whines and hides his face in the junction between Mark’s neck and shoulder. “You’re so embarrassing,” he complains, but the smile is obvious in his voice.

He jerks Mark off like that, scattering open-mouthed kisses along his throat. He drifts upwards, tongue dragging searing and slick along the cut of Mark’s jaw, before sucking his earlobe into his mouth, panting. His breath is hot, damp, and it’s all Mark can feel, Donghyuck’s hand down his pants, fingers wrapped around pulsing cock, his unsteady breathing, the drag of his teeth along his throat. The slide of it burns a little, at first, but before long it’s slick everywhere, a combination of Donghyuck’s spit and Mark’s own precum, smeared down the length of him. Mark babbles praises, sweet nothings and everythings that have Donghyuck whining, high and reedy, as he squeezes the length of Mark’s dick, plays with his balls in the palm of his hand.

Mark comes with a hoarse shout, a flash of white light, Donghyuck covering the head of his dick in an attempt to catch it all, before pulling his hand back out and licking his fingers clean. Forefinger and middle finger in his mouth, he looks at Mark, gaze scorching through him like a brand.

“Holy shit,” Mark wheezes. “You’re _so_ hot.”

~

It isn’t until several minutes later, when they’re crowded around the sink in the bathroom together, Donghyuck washing his hands, with a fresh pair of briefs, and Mark rinsing his mouth, that they really think to talk about it. They’ve got about an hour before the rest of the guys are set to return to the dorm, and Mark figures that they’ll probably just spend the time watching some dumb YouTube videos or something.

“Are you feeling better?” Mark asks, after spitting out a mouthful of Listerine. He’s minty-fresh now—no more dick-breath, good for him.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Donghyuck says, as he pulls his briefs on over his legs, fully unabashed in his partial nudity. He’s gorgeous like this, confident and understated, his hair a disheveled mess, falling into his eyes. “That was…” he flushes, and Mark watches as his ears alone go pink, “strangely cathartic.”

“That’s good,” Mark says, and winces as he adjusts himself in his own boxers, where things are already drying down in a decidedly unsexy way. “Ugh, I’m all sticky.”

“Your fault for coming in your pants,” Donghyuck sticks his tongue out. “Amateur.”

“Don’t make me hit you,” Mark retorts, without any real heat. “Anyways, I’m happy we… did that, I guess?”

“You _guess_? Mark, thousands of people would _kill_ to be in your spot just about now,” Donghyuck smirks, twinkling at him from where their eyes meet in the mirror.

“Glad to see you’ve bounced back,” Mark says drily, and Donghyuck tosses his head back to laugh, bright and lovely.

He turns, resting his hip against the sink, reaching forward to cup Mark’s cheeks in his hands. His hands are wet, still, cool against Mark’s overheated skin. He rubs his thumb along the jut of Mark’s cheekbones, presses a finger to the mole on his cheek. His eyes are so soft that it makes Mark ache.

“I don’t say this enough,” Donghyuck murmurs, musing, “but I love you, hyung.”

Mark stares at him, thoroughly fond. The words aren’t some dramatic declaration of love, nor is it any indication of a burgeoning romance. It’s stated, a simple fact. “And me to you, Donghyuck-ah,” Mark says, and smiles.

It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation to [Spanish](https://www.wattpad.com/story/248073316-pretty-boy)
> 
> this was supposed to be porn WITHOUT plot, like just straight-up nasty, gratuitous porn, but as you may be able to tell... things didn't really turn out as planned LOL (smut is very clearly not my forté)
> 
> anyways, find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/epistolarymoon) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/letterstothemoon)!


End file.
